47 Sam
The grass tickles Sam’s chin, but he doesn’t laugh. His little heart pounds. He glances at Clive. He clutches the hunting knife Serena gave him to his chest.
“Okay boys, this is what we are going to do,” Serena says, placing her steady hands on the two boys’ shoulders. “They aren’t looking for anyone on foot. They are looking for people near tents and carriages.”
Sam watches the riders in black dismount. “But won’t they be looking for Ward’s scouts? What if they think that is us?”
She doesn’t take her eyes off the Dark Ones. “They may, which is why you are going to stay low, lower than the grass. We are going to have to move slow. Don’t want them to see the grass shift.” She crouches lower and walks. While the grass is well over his and Clive’s heads, they still crouch low, ma
